Every night when I put Lila down in her crib, this is the last thing I say to her: “Strong back, soft front, wild heart.” I touch her back, her tummy and her chest as I say the words, and then I tell her I love her. It has become like an incantation, magical words […]
Welcome to Looking for America!
This is where I write about x, y, z and why I do this thing in the first place. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, brute argumentum quaerendum nam ei. Est iudicabit abhorreant consectetuer ei, dicant aliquid mea in, vim et volutpat consetetur. Dolore antiopam ea ius. Qualisque percipitur delicatissimi vel ne. No sed oratio pidis. Verterem democritum mea et, vidit doming ne nam. Quodsi atomorum nam at, ei qui liber deleniti, ea vel quod euripidis. Ut rebum suscipit nam. Pertinax assentior argumentum cu vis, vel voluptua epicurei facilisis et, ex bonorum phaedrum moderatius vix. Timeam similique delicatissimi mel at, mea altera delectus adolescens id.
Bullet Journal: my best inanimate friend
Embarrassing revelation: when I look at this grubby, scuffed little yellow notebook—my bullet journal—I feel a genuine affection. A warm, swelly sensation in my heart, such as one might feel for a dear friend, or humankind. It’s odd, yes, but also kind of cool. It makes me ponder the concept of inanimate friends, like the […]
The Turning, a poem
THE TURNING I. My sweet darlings, however did you stay afloat for so long and never suspect you were built to breathe underwater? Why did you never toss thoughts around in three dimensions, never loose them like dragonflies into the deep sky? How could you fear falling? Didn’t you see the spiders stringing safety nets […]
So Much to Tell You
It’s a little house on a hundred acres of oak forest. A canyon built like a cradle where, over 31 months, I’ve clambered, climbed and connected. I fell in love here. Today has been my last day on the ranch. We’re moving 3000 miles across the country to another forest and another home, starting tomorrow. […]
Tricked
I was given a new piece of America last night. By a coyote. Marty and I were coming home from our evening walk when we spotted the bouncy gait of the coyote in the pasture. Just a few shades off the tone of the gold-brown summer grass, he swept across the plain as if he […]
Shanti and the Self: A Californian Love Story
Yesterday, my aunt emailed me about this blog. She told me about her time studying in Santa Barbara in the 1980s, and the warning she was given repeatedly as an incoming foreigner: “You’ve come to California. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re in America.” I don’t know if it’s true (is it true, Americans?), […]
